Tag: real life (Page 1 of 2)

What’s Really Shaping Your Story?

February 4, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Life moves fast. Between work, family, the news, and endless to-do lists, it’s easy to get swept up in the noise and lose sight of what truly shapes our story.

But here’s something worth remembering. Our lives aren’t defined solely by what happens to us. They’re shaped by how we interpret, respond to, and make meaning from those experiences. The stories we tell ourselves become the lens through which we see the world and our place in it.

Are you aware of the narrative you’ve been living by? Sometimes, we carry old stories. Stories about who we are, what we deserve, or what our future holds. Stories that no longer serve us. These stories often keep us stuck, afraid, or disconnected from our true potential.

What if you could pause right now and examine those stories? Which ones are empowering you, helping you move forward with hope and purpose? And which ones are holding you back, planting seeds of doubt or regret?

The power lies in your ability to rewrite your story. It doesn’t mean ignoring reality or pretending everything is perfect. It means choosing to focus on the truths that fuel growth, healing, and resilience.

Maybe it’s releasing the grip on past mistakes and embracing grace. Maybe it’s daring to believe in your own capacity to change and grow. Maybe it’s deciding that your worth isn’t tied to anyone else’s approval or your past failures.

This week, take time to reflect on the story you want to live by. What parts can you release? What new chapters can you begin writing today? How might your life shift if you let Jesus become the author of your own story instead of being a character stuck in someone else’s script?

Remember: Your story is still being written and your past is not the author.

Take a deep breath, reflect deeply, and move forward with intention and courage.

Joy in the Little Things

February 3, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Sometimes life’s biggest challenges can make us forget the little things that quietly bring joy and peace. This week, as the cold lingers and the world feels heavy with noise and uncertainty, I’m reminded how much comfort can come from simple, everyday blessings.

Like the reliable warmth of a good pair of Carhartts when stepping outside into the chill. It’s like a small set of armor that makes the cold manageable. Or the cozy feeling of coming back to a warm house, even when the fireplace isn’t roaring just yet. There’s peace in knowing there’s food on the table, no scrambling, just steady provision.

And for me, joy bubbles up in the anticipation of spring as the starting of seeds begins indoors, setting up my gardening station, imagining new life growing slowly but surely. It’s a quiet hope, a little miracle in the making.

Then there’s the comfort found in ritual: a fresh, steaming cup of coffee from the French press. There’s just something about its rich aroma filling the room.

Even if you don’t drink coffee these are the days when holding a hot cup of coffee just feels right!

These little things don’t fix all of our problems, but they remind us that joy can live in the small corners of everyday life. What little things bring you joy this week? Take a moment to notice them today.

Here’s to finding grace and gladness in the small things that make life sweeter.

The Long Night & The Light That Still Comes

December 23, 2025 / / 1 Comment

There’s a certain point every December where the dark feels just plain heavy.

You notice it when you pull into the driveway at 4:50 p.m. and your headlights hit the same patch of ground they hit at 8 p.m. It’s the long night. The season where the sun seems to give up early. The time of year where the cold settles in your bones and even the land feels like it’s bracing itself.

This is the month when the chickens go to bed way too soon, the fields disappear into a huge shadow of darkness, and the only light I see is whatever spills out from the porch lamp or flickers inside the fireplace.

The long night is real in more places than the just the farm.

December brings its own shadows. It comes in the griefs that resurface. The pressure that tightens. The loneliness that sneaks up. The exhaustion that no amount of caffeine can solve. The reminder of what didn’t go as planned this year.

Nobody advertises that part of Christmas.

But the long night shows up anyway. On the land. In the house. In the heart.

And that’s exactly where Advent speaks the strongest.

Because Advent never pretended the night wasn’t long. It just proclaimed, with stubborn hope: The Light still comes.

Not because we earned it.
Not because we’re ready.
Not because we finally got our spiritual crap together.

But because God refuses to let the darkness win.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5 (ESV)

Every December night on this thirteen acre piece of land the same truth is preached to me.

When I walk from the barn to the house and the only illumination is a thin beam from a flashlight. When the cold wraps around me like a heavy blanket. When the trees stand like dark silhouettes against the sky.

That’s when I remember. Light doesn’t need ideal conditions. It just needs to show up.

And Jesus showed up.

Not in a palace. Not in a spotlight. Not when everyone was fine. Not when the world was filled with peace and calm.

He stepped into the long night of a world that couldn’t save itself. He stepped into Roman oppression. Into spiritual confusion. Into political tension. Into ordinary people living ordinary struggles.

He came into our darkness – not to judge us for it, but to break it.

And He’s still doing it.

He does it in hospital rooms. In quiet living rooms lit by a single Christmas tree. In sanctuaries where candles flicker against stained glass. In cars where people cry on their way home. In barns and bedrooms and kitchens and churches and cold nights out on the land.

The Light still comes. And the darkness still loses.

So as Christmas arrives and this series closes, here’s your last Christmas invite:

Don’t fear the long night. Instead look for the Light. Even the smallest flame pushes back the dark. Even the faintest glow announces hope. Even the smallest spark of faith proclaims: He’s here.

On these acres, in this season, in this life of yours Advent ends with one promise. The Light has come, the Light is here, and the Light will keep coming.

And the darkness? It never gets the final word.

Splitting Wood & Spiritual Strength

December 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

How resistance shapes us in Advent.

If you want to know who you really are, grab an axe and head to the woodpile.

There’s something brutally honest about splitting wood. It’s you, the log, the cold, and the undeniable truth that no amount of wishful thinking will split that piece of oak for you.

You swing.
You miss.
You curse under your breath.
You readjust.
You swing again.
Eventually something gives, either the log… or your back.

And standing there in the bite of December, with woodchips sticking to your jeans and steam rising off your breath, the Advent lesson hits hard:

Strength doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s built. Slowly. Repetitively. Through resistance.

We love the idea of spiritual strength. We want deeper faith, stronger trust, steadier souls, and an unshakeable hope.

But we quietly, secretly, and deeply wish we could gain all of that without the swing of the axe, without the struggle, without the repetition. Heck without the resistance!

The woodpile disagrees.

And if we’re honest, so does Scripture.

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” – Romans 5:3-4 (ESV)

Suffering → endurance → character → hope. It’s the spiritual version of swing → resistance → breakthrough → warmth.

Nobody gets firewood without effort. Nobody gets spiritual fire without endurance.

When I’m out on my acreage with a pile of unsplit logs staring me down, I realize how often I want Advent to be sentimental instead of strengthening. I want warm lights and hot drinks and sweet moments not the hard work of shaping a soul.

But Advent wasn’t meant to be sentimental. It was meant to build strength.

Strength to wait.
Strength to trust.
Strength to hope in the dark.
Strength to believe God is working even when the world feels cold and stubborn.

Jesus didn’t come because we were strong. He came because we couldn’t be.

And yet, He doesn’t leave us weak.

He shapes us.
He strengthens us.
He forms us like a woodcutter forms kindling. He does it through pressure, repetition, faithfulness, and time.

So here’s this week’s invitation:

When life feels heavy and the resistance feels real… don’t despise the woodpile. God might be building the exact strength you’ve been praying for.

Breakthrough doesn’t come without the swing. Warmth doesn’t come without effort. Spiritual strength doesn’t come without God using the hard places to shape us.

Advent continues not just warming our hearts for Christmas, but forging them for the world we’re called to love.

Frozen Chicken Waterers & Faithfulness

December 12, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Sometimes it’s about showing up in the hard moments of Advent.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of cracking ice out of a chicken waterer at 5:15 a.m. in December to remind you that life isn’t always inspirational.

The sun isn’t up.
The wind is disrespectfully strong.
Your gloves are never as warm as the advertisement promises.
And the chickens, God bless them, stare at you like you caused winter.

This is the part of acreage living nobody puts on Instagram.
This is the part of ministry no one writes worship songs about.
This is the part of December that Hallmark keeps pretending doesn’t exist.

But here’s the undeniable truth: Faithfulness rarely feels glamorous. Most days it looks like freezing fingers, stubborn chores, and showing up anyway.

While I’m kicking an ice block out of a bucket before the first cup of coffee, Advent hits me with another lesson:

God didn’t wait for ideal conditions to show up. So I can’t either?

He came when the world was cold.
He came when the night was long.
He came when the people were tired, worn, frustrated, waiting, fed up, and spiritually frozen.

He came into the mess not after the mess cleaned itself up.

That little water bucket in the coop preaches the Gospel better than half the sermons I write:

Faithfulness is doing what’s needed even when it’s inconvenient, unseen, and uncelebrated.

Advent reminds me that God Himself is faithful in the same way. Not flashy. Not loud. Not waiting for me to be impressive.

Just showing up. Every day. Every moment. Every season.

Jesus didn’t come because the world finally got it together. He came because we couldn’t.

And He kept showing up…
in Nazareth,
in the wilderness,
in people’s pain,
in their questioning,
in the overlooked corners of life.

If God can show up in a manger, He can show up in my frozen chicken coop. He can show up in your stress-filled December. He can show up in worship number three of the week. He can show up when the schedule is too full, the emotions are thin, and the to-do list is laughing at you.

So here’s the heart of Advent Week 2:

Advent faith isn’t built in warm moments. It’s built in cold mornings.
It’s built when you show up even when you don’t feel like it.
It’s built in small, faithful steps that nobody sees but God.

The chickens never say thank you. Life doesn’t always say thank you. Ministry certainly doesn’t always say thank you.

But faithfulness was never about applause. It’s about presence.

God’s presence with us. Our presence in the small things. His steady love. Our steady steps.

Even if those steps involve a frozen chicken waterer and breath you can see in the air.

Advent continues one cold morning at a time. And yep…God is still faithful.

The Quiet Field

December 5, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Finding Stillness on Acres in Advent

There’s a kind of silence that you only get on thirteen acres in early December.

It isn’t peaceful in one of those “spa with music and scented candles” kind of way. Not that I’d find that peaceful anyway!

It’s peaceful in the “everything is frozen and refusing to move” kind of way.

The grass is brittle. The garden is dead. The mud is solid. The trees creak like old bones every time the wind pushes through. Even the chickens give me that look that says “really… you came out here for this?”

And honestly? I feel the same way.

December doesn’t ask permission before it steamrolls you. It shows up with a clipboard full of expectations:
Christmas programs.
Three worship services every week.
Sermons.
Meetings.
Family plans.
Shopping.
School programs.
Year-end everything.

The month demands so much noise from me… while the land around me goes completely quiet.

And that’s the first gut-punch lesson Advent always hands me: The world gets loud, but God often whispers.

You’d think the “holy season” would feel holy. But Advent rarely starts that way for me. It usually starts with me trying to figure out how to beat the sun to the chicken coop, how to not slip on the icy slope behind the barn, and how in the world I’m going to get everything done before the 24th.

But out there on that cold, stubborn ground I’m reminded that God does His best work in the quiet places.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

Be still?
In December?
Sure, God. Let me just pencil that in between “fix frozen coop door” and “write sermon number three for the week.”

But that’s exactly the point. Stillness isn’t what happens when everything calms down. Stillness is what happens when I stop pretending I can carry everything myself.

The fields don’t fight the season. The garden doesn’t resist the freeze. The trees don’t argue their way out of winter. They simply… stop. Rest. Wait.

Advent is the Church’s way of reminding us: You can’t force fruit in winter. But you can prepare your heart for the Light that’s about to break in.

So this week, here’s my Advent invitation not just to you, but to myself:

Step into the quiet field, even if it’s only for five minutes.

Bundled up. Breath in the cold air. Let the noise fall off you. Let your soul settle for a moment so you can hear the whisper again.

Because while the world is screaming for more, God is quietly preparing to give us what we could never give ourselves:

A Savior.
A Light in the long night.
Hope wrapped in flesh.

Out here on the acreage, Advent begins with a frozen field and a quiet whisper. And honestly? That’s enough.

The Discipline of Deadlifts and Devotion

November 5, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Confession time: I hate leg day. Yep. Hate it with a passion!

Give me chest, shoulders, or biceps, and I’m good to go. But leg day? No thanks. That’s the day I suddenly feel the urge to take a rest day.

It’s not that I can’t do squats or deadlifts. Actually the moves aren’t hard at all and I can handle a decent amount of weight. I just don’t want to. They’re uncomfortable. They burn. They make it hard to sit or stand the next day. Heck they make me question all my life choices.

But you know what happens when you skip leg day too often? You start to look like a man riding a chicken. You’re all big up top, tiny at the bottom, unstable when life gets heavy.

And honestly, that’s what a lot of Christians look like spiritually. Strong in the more visible areas like church attendance, Christian talk, surface-level kindness that better not interrupt my day. But all too often weak in the parts that actually carry the weight.

Because real faith, like real strength, is built from the ground up.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “Train yourself for godliness; for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way.” (1 Timothy 4:7–8, ESV) He wasn’t talking about how we handle ourselves at the gym. He was talking about discipline. The kind of commitment that builds unseen strength.

It’s the same in devotion. Everybody loves the mountaintop moments! You know the powerful worship set, the answered prayer, the goosebumps of God’s presence. But not many people love the grind. The leg day of the spiritual walk. Things like showing up to Scripture when it feels dry, praying when nothing visible is happening, serving when nobody seems to notice.

That’s spiritual leg day. It’s not fun. It’s not flashy. But it’s what gives your faith stability when life drops something heavy on your shoulders.

The older I get, the more I realize: Faith that skips leg day looks good in the mirror but collapses under pressure.

So yeah, I still hate deadlifts. But I do them. Not because I like them, but because I need what they build. The endurance, humility, and strength where it counts.

The same goes for devotion. God’s not impressed by how spiritual you look up top. He’s shaping the foundation underneath.

So show up. Do the not so – glamorous work. Train your soul as much as your body.
Because when life gets heavy (and it will), you don’t want to be the spiritual guy or gal riding a chicken!

Lessons on Grace: Mowing Through Life’s Messes

October 31, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Ok so I don’t rake leaves. I have far too many. Raking would be like trying to bail the Titanic with a coffee mug. So I use a blower. Well, that’s not even totally true because most of the time I’m just too lazy to blow that many leaves. I typically just mow them over and hope for the best. I’d need a blower the likes of a jet engine to handle the leaves properly and I’m too cheap to buy anything like that. Even though it would be fun to have!

Every fall, I spend hours in the lawn, mowing over piles of leaves and sending the clippings into a nice pile. Just to watch the next gust of wind scatter them back all over the yard.

And somewhere between the noise, the frustration, and the endless repetition, I realize: this is a picture of grace.

You see grace is a lot like blowing leaves. No matter how hard you try to get things perfectly clean, the mess keeps coming back. Then the second you think you’ve got it all under control. A mini vortex comes and messes it all up! So another pile, another reminder that this isn’t a one-time job.

I think that’s why Paul said, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9, ESV) Grace isn’t about a clean yard. It’s about the constant presence of God’s strength in our endless weakness. The harder we try the more the wind of temptation or boredom tends to come in and blow us away.

And if I’m being honest, there are days I want to just quit! Not life but I want to stop fighting the leaves, stop cleaning up messes, stop trying to make life look tidy.
Then I remember. I can’t throw in the towel because grace doesn’t quit on me.

That’s what I remember every fall: Grace keeps showing up, leaf after leaf, sin after sin, failure after failure. It’s not neat. It’s not quiet. It’s not easy. But it’s real.

So now, when I hop on the mower and start another round, I don’t just see work. I see something like worship. Not the “hands raised, perfect harmony” kind. The kind that happens when you’re sweating through your hoodie. Covered in dust and leafy bits. Realizing that even in the noise and futility, God is there.

Because sometimes, the loudest reminder of grace comes with the roar of a zero turn and a cloud of leaf dust flying through the air.

Coming up next week: “The Discipline of Deadlifts and Devotion” where we’ll talk about why the gym might be one of the most honest places to learn about spiritual growth.

The Problem With Perfect Leaders

October 29, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s be honest, pastors can be some of the best actors around. Far too often we preach about authentic faith but live like we’re auditioning for Most Holy Person of the Year.

We smile even when we’re exhausted. We shake hands when we’d rather hide. We quote Scripture while quietly wondering if it still works the same for us as it does for everyone else.

The truth? Ministry can end up polishing the soul until it looks shiny from a distance but leaves the inside feeling…hollow.

And that’s not just a pastor thing. It’s a people thing. Leaders, parents, teachers, entrepreneurs, all of us! We’re all trying to hold it together in public while life leaks in private.

I’ve done it too. For years, I lived as though leadership meant never letting them see you bleed. But Jesus never modeled that kind of leadership. So why should I?

He wept. He sweat blood. He was betrayed, exhausted, misunderstood, and still chose to love.

That’s leadership. It’s not the filtered, staged version of leadership either. It’s the kind that bleeds grace.

So here’s where I’m landing these days: Leaders aren’t called to be impressive. We’re called to be honest.

When you stop pretending to have it all together, people stop pretending too.
And the cool part is, that’s when discipleship actually happens. It’s not when we hand out carefully crafted bullet points on leadership, but when we invite people to watch us wrestle with obedience, failure, and hope.

I’ve led well and led poorly. I’ve prayed hard and still felt dry. I’ve seen God move powerfully and then wondered why He felt silent the next day.

But through it all, I’ve learned that faith doesn’t thrive in perfection. It grows in the cracks. The broken places in our lives that look barren and yet are the perfect places for light to poke through.

I think of stained glass and how the broken shards of glass are the ones that cast the most amazing light refractions. The same is true for us. When we let the cracked parts of our lives become exposed to the grace of God, then the light of his presence refracts into the lives of those where we live, work, and play.

So if you’re leading anything. Yeah anything! From a church to a business even a family listen up: You don’t need to be perfect. You just need to be present.

Show up. Tell the truth. Repent quickly when you mess up. Laugh often. Admit when you’re wrong. That’s leadership that looks like Jesus. And that’s the kind of faith the world actually needs.

Coming up later this week: “Blowing Leaves and Remembering Grace”  a post from the dirtier, simpler side of life where God keeps reminding me He’s not afraid of a mess.

What’s Next for the Blog (and Why I’m Excited About It)

October 24, 2025 / / 0 Comments

I’ve heard a few questions about why shift the focus? And that’s a great question! I think of it like a freeway system. Having more lanes is often a great way to free up congestion. Well there’s a lot more to life than just the part we see on Sunday. And frankly, if I’m asking the people in my circle to share their lives with the people in their circles then I should show you how it works in my own life.

Over the years, derrickhurst.org has lived mostly in the world of pastoring and discipleship. I’ve focused pretty solely on sermons, theology, church leadership, and the occasional rant about spiritual apathy. And that’s been good. But lately, I’ve been pulled to a bit of a new focus: Discipleship isn’t limited to Sunday mornings and coffee-shop Bible studies.

It happens when I’m swinging a shovel.

It happens when I’m training at the gym or even in my garage. Yeah even those times when I want to quit.

It happens when I share a pour of bourbon and engage in honest conversation with a friend under the stars.

It even happens when I’m arguing with weeds that keep winning the war in my garden.

So, starting next week, this blog gets a bit of a reboot. It will be this same old guy writing, with the same love for Jesus, simply using a wider lens.

Here’s what you can expect:

The Rhythm

  • Two posts every week.
    One will usually hit on faith, leadership, or discipleship. We’ll still consider that the core stuff.
    The other will explore the discipled life in the real world. Things like fitness, property work, bourbon reflections, simplicity, or the things that make us human will all be up for discussion. Some posts will be longer and others fairly short. But they’ll all be real, authentic, and me.
  • Bonus posts will pop up when the mood strikes, because sometimes a thought just won’t wait for the schedule.

The Voice

Still me. Still bold. Still calling things what they are. Still unapologetic.

Some posts will make you think; some might make you laugh; a few might make you uncomfortable and that’s kind of the point. Growth rarely happens in comfort zones.

The Goal

To explore what it looks like to follow Jesus in all of life. Not just as a pastor. Not just in church. But as a husband, dad, coach, neighbor, lifter, bourbon-sipper, and steward of a little patch of Ohio dirt.

So if you’ve been around for the ministry side, stick with me. You’ll still get plenty of that.

And if you’ve been waiting for something a little more real-life and raw, well you’re about to get it.

Starting next week, we’ll dig into gratitude, growth, and grace from the pulpit and the backyard.

It’s time to get a little more honest, a little more human, and maybe a little more fun. See you next week. Bring your coffee. Or your gloves. Or your glass. You decide.

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